Monsters and Lemonade

At night when she triesto wind down her mind, thoughts creep in on thin spiders' legs. Doubts drag heavy laden limbs across the floor and light on her already Burdened shoulders. Her fears slideunder cracks and crevicesin the ceilings and walls, swirlinglike thick, acrid smoke that could choke her at any time. Thinking backto a time when swizzle sticks stirredlemonade and eyes were not orbs of incoherent babble. Dolls lined beds lain with crinoline, and pick -up sticks littered the floor. No more. The room is solitude and monstersunder the bed, just like mama said there would be. She cannot open her eyes, not one Peep. If she does,she'll find not Sheep but darkness,depth unknown. Despair that makes her tear her hair and slice and dice. And that’s not nice.

People dance round me like rings of smoke.They cast dark shadows a bit baroque, then turn and twist away from me,A wisp of ash no one can see.The crowd winds down; the people leave.One solitary soul stands left to grieve. III. Solitude

My death, not yours I left today beneath your bed of earth and clay.I am the silent boy, you see. In your death, you buried me.No trace, no memory when I was born;Only for you my parents mourn.